


Swords, Jarls and Valar Blessed

by lasttoknow



Category: The Hobbit All Media Types
Genre: Blood and stuff, Child murder- if an issue do not read, F/M, Human AU, Smeagol - Freeform, Valar - Freeform, Vikingish au, may add more tags later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasttoknow/pseuds/lasttoknow
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield, Jarl of the Blue Mountains, becomes the host of a silent woman by the Valar blessed Gandalf's request. Taking the woman in could save his people, or send them to war.





	1. Arrival

Jarl Thorin heard the crowd surge by before he himself left his halls. Dwalin quickly followed, axes out. Vili and Dis also joined his side causing the crowd to part for them.  
“What comes?” Thorin growled out; making all turn to him.  
“The Grey One” Nori replied, calmly flipping a dagger, “half a league out with a carriage.” Thorin frowned at this. Carriages were wooden contraptions that the lands they raided used. They had no place here. Any other coming with one would be shunned.  
Yet the Grey One was different. Valar blessed. It was unknown which one but it was agreed that it was so, although Thorin suspected it was Manwe. Valar blessed were rare. It was important to have their favour. Mahal knew Thorin needed it now.  
He looked around to his people. Many too thin, children too few. Smaug’s attack had left them vulnerable and those who took advantage after had thinned their warriors. The Grey One could help them yet.  
And so he greeted him when his wooden contraption came through the gates.  
“Hail Jarl Thorin. Hail the warriors of the blue mountains.” The Grey One surveyed the area. “I have a request.”  
Although he did not show it, Thorin was excited by this. If the favour was reasonable then the Grey One would be in their debt. A useful bargaining chip.  
“And what would that be?”  
“A friend requires a place to stay.” He motioned to the carriage. “She is to be treated with respect; a free woman, not a slave.” The tone brokered no argument.  
“Of course, she can have lodgings in my halls.” With a grand gesture he waved to his long house. By far it was the best; each Jarl had improved on the previous one’s work. A grand display of his family’s legacy.  
“She will be treated well?” Thorin found a staff shoved under his nose.  
“She will be under my protection” it was the best he could offer; and apparently enough for the old day.  
Nodding to himself, the aged man meandered over to the door. Opening it revealed a young woman. She certainly didn’t look like the type to live with raiders; from what he could see as her cloak hid most of her face. He dress was of a light green silk, embroidered and tailored in a way Thorin had not seen. Her skin was snow pale showing she had never toiled in the sun.  
“I leave her to your care.” With little fan fair her belongings were unloaded and the Grey One rode out with rings of smoke following him. A stunned silence followed him as they studied the female.  
“Welcome to the Blue Mountains. I am Jarl Thorin.” Usually, this would be were the person would begin flattery and begging for favours. She did not. Instead she stood there; possibly staring he could not tell. Taking a single step forward she removed her hood.  
If he were paying attention he would note her golden curls, oval face or regal bearing. Instead, he; like all the others in the crowd; stared at her eyes. Specifically her right eye. Glistening green was the mark of Yavanna. A Valar blessed. Maintaining eye contact he motioned towards his halls.

She did not speak once as he showed her her room. Nor when she unpacked and he peppered her with questions. If any other refused him in such a way he would pass them over to Nori. Yet Valar blessed; especially one blessed by Mahal’s wife was to be treated with respect no matter how strange.  
In fact, it was not until they sat in the feast hall did he hear her speak. He placed her on his left; a sign of high favour; next to his sister. She and Vili had been discussing the next raid when the single word was heard.  
“Congratulations” Calmly the Valar blessed continued her meal.  
“Congratulations?” Vili’s brow was creased. “The raid has not yet happened, nor is it fully planned…”  
His rambling was cut off when she gestured to Dis’s stomach. Dis’s hand ghosted over it.  
“Am, am I” swallowing she whispered the next word, “pregnant?”  
Her reply was a smile and nod that had Vili and Thorin roaring in delight. The first in the next generation of the line of Durin. Soon the entire hall was bursting with laughter and joy. More wine was consumed than advisable (except Dis and the Valar blessed) whist the ladies continued their meals. By the end the men had found pigs that they were sacrificing to Mahal and Yavanna with vigour. The blessed looked amused by their antics while Dis was chanting with them. 

When Thorin awoke he groaned from the relentless pounding in his head. And then he yelled at the sight of the woman standing at the end of his bed. The Valar blessed handed him a goblet and on silent feet left the room. Whatever was in the goblet cure his hangover, although its smell was unpleasant.  
There were more unpleasant smells downstairs. She had cooked two breakfasts; one for himself and Vili comprised of egg and meat and another for Dis made of some grey thing.  
“I’m not eating it!” Dis pushed the meal away much like a child.  
“Dis, don’t offend the Valar blessed. Eat the lumpy thing.” Vili hid behind his meat. Although, Dis did begrudgingly eat it. Living with the Valar blessed would be interesting.


	2. Wolves

There were reports of wolves circling the Blue Mountains. Whilst there was glory and honour in killing wolves it was best to be wary of them. The wolves could attack in large numbers and cause a great amount of damage. Thorin had killed many black wolves but was not foolish enough to wish large numbers of predators to his lands.  
So when he and Nori were patrolling the forest edge both had their fingers itching around their blades. The slightest rustled had Nori throwing a well-aimed blade through the bushes. Yet it never reached the bushes as a slender hand caught the flashing steel. The Valar blessed held up a hand to prevent Nori’s words before they had even formed. Thorin regarded her.  
Her reflexes were fast and impressive. She was either a trained warrior or her abilities were due to being blessed. Perhaps he would see if she trained or not.  
He was distracted by what caused the rustling in the bushes. A wolf. Both he and Nori leapt into battle stance with their weapons drawn. Here, Thorin Oakenshield watched one of the strangest things he had ever seen. The wolf wandered over to the young woman and she was petting it.  
Nori raised an eyebrow, “do we kill it or leave it?” He gestured to the surprisingly domestic wolf.  
“I think not” Thorin sheathed his weapons. At the same time she shook her head. Moving forward he stood a few feet from them. It was a nice enough creature. Leaner and furrier than the black wolves that haunted the borders. Cautiously, he petted the wolf behind the ear. With a satisfied huff the wolf trotted back into the vegetation. 

Reports of the incident spread through the settlement over the next few days. Balin finally came to the Jarl Thorin was feed up of people coming to ask him if it was true. He had hoped that they would ask Nori but he and Bofur were known for tall tales.  
“What is it Balin?”  
The aged advisor met his grumpy greeting with the experience of having to face worse storms and continued on unphased. “It was a grey wolf, wasn’t it?”  
“Aye” of all the details for closer scrutiny the colour of the wolf seemed a strange one. “What of it?”  
Glancing around Balin leant forward. “Grey wolves were only found in the Shire.” The Shire was rarely spoken of. For hundreds of years the Shire had traded food for protection. This agreement had lasted up until Thrain’s reign as Jarl. Yet nearly 20 years ago a disease of some kind had killed the people leaving the land barren. It was why there was so little food now, there simply wasn’t enough for everyone.  
“They guarded the borders, were said to only respond to the Took family; the Jarl’s line. “ Balin said this as if it had great importance.  
“Balin, the Shire people were made by Yavanna. It isn’t surprising that a grey wolf would appear in the presence of her Valar blessed.”  
“But the wolves died with the Shire, and she wears clothes in their style. I think it more than simply being Valar blessed.”  
“Then ask her Balin, but I am yet to hear her utter more than a single word.” He clapped Balin on the shoulder before moving away. She looked old enough to be from the Shire but a Valar blessed didn’t have to be created by the Valar that blessed them. Gandalf had come from the Silver woods but was blessed by Manwe. Clothing and random wolves said very little.  
Speaking of random wolves, one trotted past him with a hare in its mouth. He, and most of the others, watched as it deposited the hare in the lap of a widow. Another wolf with a goose trotted to a different family. It seemed that the grey wolves had found sources of prey that his hunters had not. Thorin was not sure if he should be happy that his people had food or disappointed that his hunters were so bad at their jobs. A bit of both seemed preferable.  
Turning, he saw her handing out more food. Once her task was complete she linked arms with him and with a blinding smile led him to the river. Fish. For the first time in nearly a decade there was fish in the river.  
Living with the Valar blessed was going to be interesting.  
 


	3. Meetings

“Why is this meeting happening?” Thorin could barely stand the meetings he had let alone additional ones his people called.  
“Jarl Thorin, warrior of the highest-“  
“Get on with it” Dwalin growled from his right. At least someone else could suffer with him, Thorin thought with grim satisfaction.  
“The Valar blessed, she takes walks at sunrise. Around the farms and through the forest.”  
Halda was a slimy man at best whom Thorin personally hoped would die in a raid without honour. As of yet there was little luck there. His wheedling tone usually made Thorin angry, but mentioning the Valar blessed had him grinding his teeth. He had grown fond of the silent woman in the weeks she had been living with him. Dis’s pregnancy had been going well (which he suspected was her doing) and she was a comforting presence. There was food ready for him and she had taken to sorting minor arguments for him.  
Halda continued despite the warning signs of an angry Jarl. “The crops are growing in greater number than we have seen in years and more animals we can hunt now live in our forests.”  
“Surprise” Dwalin drawled from the ale he was trying to drown himself in, “the Valar blessed of the nature goddess improves nature.”  
Despite his now foul mood he chuckled at Dwalin’s sarcasm.  
“Well,” Halda lent forward making Thorin want to remove the teeth he had left, “we think it would be best if she were to remain.” Ignoring his, Dwalin’s, Balin’ and Vili’s stormy faces he continued. “Have her marry one of us.” The door opened and a figure on silent feet entered. “It is her duty as the blessed of our maker’s wife that she stay and breed sons. She can marry one of her choice but I would put myself-“ His face smashed into the table and he reared back, blood gushing from his now broken nose. His own dagger was pressed into his throat as he gasped for breath like a drowning man.  
“Halda, I would love to see you make her do anything” chortled Vili as the woman smashed his face into the table a second time to ensure he got the message. With an exaggerated bow she stalked out of the room and Thorin tried to ignore her swaying hips. 

Gloin stoked the flame of his forge when the door opened.  
“Be with you in just a-“ he swallowed when he saw who was standing in the doorway. “My lady” he bowed to the green figure. She perused the blades on display before selecting several and gesturing to the handles.  
“I can have them shortened.” Nodding she then gestured to the twin swords on the wall. “Shortened as well?” This was met with a shake. “Will Jarl Thorin be paying?” Her answer was an outstretched hand. Taking it Gloin saw a delicate gold chain studded with emeralds. “I- that is too much...” The tilted head and raised eyebrow was easy enough to read; apparently she was the one to decide payment. “I will have them done as quickly as possible my lady.”  
That night Gloin gave his wife the necklace. Zelia had loved it and immediately wore it. Yet that night she woke him groaning and clutching her stomach.  
“Zelia? What is wrong?” Pulling back the furs he yelped. There was blood between her legs.  
“Impossible” Zelia stared down at it. She had always been barren. Gloin had married her despite this yet here was a blood cycle. His eyes moved up to her throat were glowing emeralds pulsated with magic.  
“Hail Yavanna; Valar of nature” he reverently stated. Once cleaned they sat reverently staring at her stomach.


	4. Dreams

As the last traces of autumn swept from the trees, and despite their large supplies of food, the people of the blue Mountains feared the first fall of snow. Snow represented death an icy cage that could clutch at a soul and drag it from the world of the living. It was a beast that could not be fought nor killed, nearly endured. The young and old were particularly guarded against it. Thorin remembered vividly how Winter had sunk its fangs into its mother and a slow death she experienced because of it. Due to this he had always been particularly watchful of Dis during winter. Now more than ever with her child, a tiny bump at this point, needing to be protected. Vili assured Thorin he was taking every precaution with her health yet he worried still.

He also worried about the Valar blessed that he had come to care for. She was built for the gentle weathers of spring, the caressing heat of summer, and the friendly winds of autumn, but her slight frame would not protect her against the harshness that was snow and ice. He was unashamed to admit (at least to himself) that at some point during her time in his home he had fallen for. It was hard not to. The way she cared for each of the people, how she dealt with those who mildly annoyed her, and all she had done for his people. It was more than many had done in a very long time. And then there was her smile. It’s true she smiled often. Sometimes her lips would twitch slightly at the corners, or should show off all her pearly white teeth in all their glory, but there seemed to be one smile she saved him. It was enchanting. It seemed to be the only time she smiled with her eyes as well as her lips. Smiled that made cheeks blush slightly. It was his smile and he knew he would be jealous of anyone else who was on the receiving end of such a beautiful sight. 

But how could she smile if she was freezing? Looking at the furs he had piled onto her bed he thought that perhaps it was not yet enough. He was certain that many knew his intent to court the young woman but unsure if could approve of his plan. Tradition dictated a gift was to be presented by the man which displayed his honour in battle glory or whatever skill he had earned through his life. His idea to skewer a bear by himself would demonstrate this, and earned the disapproval of most of the people who he fought with. Certainly Dis. But she was pregnant and couldn’t stop him, he hoped.

He was always that the forest edge when Dwalin came. “I hope you’re not planning anything stupid.”  
“Nothing particularly stupid”  
“That’s well and good except you’re carrying a spear. What are you planning?”  
“To get more fur.” Thorin shifted guiltily as if the child caught stealing treats, then remember he was the Jarl and squared his shoulders. Actions not unnoticed by his friend.  
“And what particular beast requires a spear if it is not particularly stupid?”  
There must have been an image of a bed dancing in his eyes for Dwalin groaned and whacked him around the head. “You’re an idiot, Jarl or not you have a death sentence that you wrote yourself. Best if I come with, then I can tell the world how bravely you fought before the bear you.”

Laughing at his friend’s grim humour they trudged into the silent trees. Here there was no snow on the ground, the canopy above those sparse provided more cover than the open streets. Heading towards the base of the mountain they found what they were looking for; a cave large and wide enough to house hibernating beast. As much as he might wish it, Thorin knew that killing it in his sleep was without honour and no woman would accept such a suit. Therefore we had to literally poke a sleeping bear, oh joy. Dwalin gave him a big thumbs up from a safe distance. Unsurprisingly, the bear was unhappy to have been awoken so rudely. Vicious paws swiped at him, but years of training aided Thorin in meeting an early end. He rolled under a snapping jaw to force his long handle spear through its throat. Choking and guttering, the beast round on its own blood before collapsing upon the Jarl. It had been an impressive fight until that point if Dwalin’s howls were anything to go by. 

Pulling himself out from with under the black bear he gave his friend an angry glare before pulling his knife to filet beast. Meat was meeting is best not to waste it but the fur was his price for his victory. He hoped, as he stamped his feet and rubbed his fingers to get circulation back, that he could treat the fur in time for it to be of aid for his woman.

Yet that night harsh winds and violent storms circled overhead. As he lay awake in his own pile of furs, his mind drifted to the woman who slept but a room away. Judging by the darkness of the night, her fire would have gone out hours of go. Cursing quietly as he got out of his cocoon of warmth he collected a pile of firewood and trudged through the door. Creeping as silently as his noisy frame (he’d often receive stares with raised eyebrows when he tried to move quietly in her presence, clearly telling him he failed miserably) allowed he entered her room.

Her fire had indeed been reduced to ash and Thorin felt the biting chill in the air. With years of experience, he relit the flame and allowed it to grow. It will take some time for it to heat the room but he reasoned it was better than nothing. As he stood up she stirred. Freezing he heard a whimper pass through her lips. Turning he saw that she seemed trapped in a battle dream and moved to brush strands of hair away from her face. The moment his fingers touched her face vivid images flashed before his eyes.

He saw a young girl running through a meadow filled with the most beautiful of wildflowers. Her golden curls bounced joyfully behind her until she stopped abruptly. For there next in a meadow was a river. And bordering either side of the river and strewn within it were the carcasses of animals. Otherwise hale and wholesome creatures, they lay dead through a thread returns fish mingling together. He watched the image shift as the girl raced through settlement of sorts different from any he had seen. Plants grew over the buildings, animals suggesting wealth unbeknownst to him stood by every door and people wore the brightest colours as if they had dipped their cloth in a rainbow. Yet for such a joyous looking place their faces were anything but. In fact it only seems strangely silent. Thorin expected such a place to be filled with music laughter. Yet it seemed only shadows thrived here. There was a cart filled with largest wrapped bundles. He watched it heave and totter he wants to hand limp and lifeless fall out of its bundle. He watched more bundles being added to the pile.

Wrenching his hand away, Thorin stared down at the Valar blessed. She still seemed trapped in her dream, so careful not to touch her, he sat next to her and sung until she drifted into a more pleasant sleep. Carefully, he touched her forehead again and did not experience such visions as he had before. If or perhaps Balin's idea that she had been from the Shire was correct; for he thought that the girl he saw was a younger version of the woman in front of him.

The next morn he was unsure of how to address the issue. And did not have time for Nori came bursting into his home.


	5. Blood spilt

“Nori! Explain yourself now!” Thorin jumped from his chair brandishing a knife.

“Zicve came to me, at some point yesterday was paid with a silver coin stamped with an elk. I checked with Balin, we have no trade agreements nor recent raids which should put that coin in circulation. We’ve got a spy.”  
Thorin let out a string of creative swears before motioning to the ginger, “summon everyone to the meeting hall. Tell no one no reason but do not alert suspicion; go!” As a middle Ri fled through the door a cold hand rested on his shoulder. Almost jumping for the second time that day, he saw the Valar blessed standing behind him. He had no doubt she had heard everything but would be a thing should become difficult this.

Her arm linked with his, and as if they were merely going for a gentle stroll rather than a manhunt, they strolled out the door towards halls.  
It took little time for the hall to fill and when it did, it was uncharacteristically quiet. The glancing, unnerved looks made it very hard to find one or more that were guiltier looking at the rest.

“Silence” Thorin was not particularly loud, but his harsh growl and stormy eyes quickly silent what few murmurs that there were. Standing in front of them all, as proud and tall as the building they were gathered in, he began.

“One among us has betrayed us. When the Shire fell we turned to our allies for aid. One attacked us and stole and killed much. Someone is using his coin. We will find this person and they will be punished accordingly.” Alternatively, a dagger could fly through the crowd and stab someone. Given that it’s the Valar blessed it was only reason a riot didn’t occur. However, there was still numerous outcries as she herded people to get to the man. He still breathed, Thorin noted the wound was not deep nor particularly troubling. An unskilled healer could easily save him and leave little but a scar behind.

He watched as she rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a bag coin. Before their eyes she tipped the contents of the floor causing the coins to scatter throughout the hall. Once skidded and stopped and his feet. Picking up Thorin saw the same coin that Nori brought to him. Nori was in fact holding the coin up and nodding to confirm that it was identical. The man, Grima, looked as if he is going to begin pleading his case but was not given the chance. She had silently crept up behind him in precise measuring movement. She stood, impassive, as the man choked slowly on his blood before collapsing to the floor dead. There was an outburst of noise and Thorin had to call for silence many times before it was heard. 

“How dare you! You are a guest in my lands and you do not execute my men, traitor or not. You may be blessed but that does not make to above the laws of this land. He had to have been found guilty of crimes, possessing a bag is not enough to kill him.”

Her response was to reach into his pocket again plough small vial. She tossed carelessly to Nori. He took one sniff before gagging.  
“Belladonna.” Poison was a coward’s method of death. There was no honour in it nor glory. And when she pointed from the man to him, all understood was intended recipient was. There were howls of outrage as Dis covered her swelling stomach. Vili pulled out his sword to defend his wife and unborn child from the dead man. Perhaps it somewhat excused her actions, yet it would have to be made clear that such actions again would result in punishment. Not that Thorin particularly wanted to take a whip to her back. But there was a man’s blood on the floor.

She left the hall in a sea of silence with Thorin following behind her. It was not until they were in the longhouse did he grab her arm to discuss what happened.  
“You cannot kill my men without evidence. Coins merely suggest a strong link. If you had but shown the poison before you slit his throat I would have gladly given you permission to do so. You may be blessed but you cannot kill my men without my approval. Am I clear?”  
She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stalked towards her room.  
“Do you think I want to strip the flesh from your back as punishment! I want to keep you safe, and preferably whole.” Breathing heavily through his nose he looked up to see her brow furrowed. Was it truly so hard to believe someone would want her safe? Reaching for her again he sat by the hearth and she joined him. “Could it not have waited a few more seconds?”  
“No”  
He almost missed the quiet word that passed through her lips. He almost retorted in anger to it. But, it was laced with such pain that he held his tongue.  
She stared into the fire before looking at him. Her mark began to fade in front of him. Her right eye darkened into shadow until there was nothing but an empty, scarred socket.  
Leaning forward Thorin but a comforting hand on her knee. Even by the fire he could feel how cold she was. “What happened in the Shire?”


	6. Words unspoken

She reared back from him, eye and mark reappearing. Her fingers strayed to her reformed eye, as if checking it was still there.  
"I, I entered your room to tend the fire." Cold anger danced on her features and Thorin swallowed. That was far creepier than intended. "I swear upon my honour and the might of Mahal my intention was only to ensure you did not freeze."  
She calmed somewhat and remained by the fire. "Your sleep was troubled and I moved hair from your face. I saw, visions. A child in the Shire and the death within it." Placing his hand on her shoulders he tried to show his support. "A sickness in a river. But unlike any other. If it was it would have spread to other lands." Her lack of objection informed him that it was true. "Poison" 

He studied her stony face. Poison in the water would dilute enough after the Shire to pose little threat, but enough to wipe out the civilisation. Yet she still did not speak.  
"You know, I am not so young that I do not remember the Shire. I remember thinking the people strange. Rare to talk. I asked a trader once. He said that words carry little weight when thrown about. Words rarely spoken have a far greater weight. You're words will always have weight to me. But I need you to tell me what happened."

She still did not speak. Instead, she leant forward, cupping Thorin's face in her hands. Images flashed through his eyes. It was different from the last time. He thought that it was now her memories; for the visions seemed to be from her view. He watched a tall man upon an elk argue with an elderly man from behind a woman's skirt. He felt the ghost of a soothing hand stroke his hair. He watched helpless as people collapsed in the street and felt a pang of loss with each one. Misery incarnate swelled within him as he found the woman dead on the floor. He watched as a man entered what he recognised as a temple. In the middle of a huddle of children, he watched a man slowly carve into their flesh. Tongue, fingers and lives were severed by his hand; slowly. He watched as the knife came and phantom pain exploded in his right eye. He awoke in a pile of corpses and dragged himself out of the temple, to be greeted by a wave of heat as the Shire burned. 

Gasping and spluttering Thorin returned to the present. His mind was racing with what he saw. Lurching forward he traced her right eye. To lose it so young. No, not lose, to have it stolen. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone hurting a child so young. Then another part of the vision floated to the front of his mind.  
"The man on the elk, it was Thrandiul was it not? He told us the Shire fell to sickness! He has killed thousands! He-" Thorin grabbed the Valar blessed and held her tightly, "he tried to kill you, killed your family. He will pay! He lacks honour." There was much more he wanted to curse about. But, he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. He made his grip more gentle and rocked the crying lass. To lose everything, Mahal he prayed he would never know such pain. But she did, his beloved, and he would let her grieve and be there for her when she needed him.

They spent the rest of the night by the dying fire. She had cried herself into sleep and Thorin was reluctant to disturb her. Her face was peaceful and if he could provide one night of peace it would be worth a stiff back. When she awoke he gave her a few moments to pull herself together before saying his piece. "When the Shire fell our people starved. We turned to others to aid but they either did not care or were too stricken themselves to aid. Other's took action. King Smaug of Erebor attacked. We prevailed but everyone lost kin. My father, grandfather, brother, more cousins and friends than I can count. Our settlement use to stretch from the river to the Mountain edge. This is all that is left." He let her sit up whilst watching her face. Pain, loss and understanding flashed across her face. Standing she offered him a single hand. And smiling, he took it and allowed her to pull him up.

Walking around the settlement was far more pleasant than usual Thorin decided. It may of been because of the calmer winds, or of the woman leaning on his arm. Nodding at the people he passed, he smiled to himself when he saw his sister and Vili pass. Dis glowed as she 'walked' (waddled but none would say it) towards her own longhouse. Names had not been decided yet, but judging by the twin swords in the Valar blessed's room it was to be a boy. Not that she would tell him yes or no; not even with a nod of the head. It seemed she delighted in keeping that particular secret, smiling and placing a finger over her lips before gracefully exciting the room.

Coming back to the present, Thorin turned to see Gloin and Zelia heading towards them.   
"Jarl Thorin, my lady. May, er-" Gloin stuttered and that was something Thorin had never seen in his life.

The Valar blessed reached out and lifted a golden chain out of Zelia's dress. He knew that her blood weeks had come since the Valar blessed had paid Gloin with a gold and emerald chain. This must have been it. A single emerald sat in the middle of the chain, glowing in a strange pattern.

"The others shattered like glass and the cycles have ended. Have we offended the Great Mother? We beg forgiveness if we have." They were almost kneeling on the ground and Thorin hoped she would help. It was one thing to know you would never have a child. Another thing entirely to gain that chance and lose it. She seemed unworried at this change and proceeded to examine her stomach. And broke into a large smile.

Zelia felt her own stomach before looking at the other woman. "I, I am carrying?"  
Her nod resulted in Gloin spinning his wife around like a child yelling his joy so that the halls of Mahal would hear him. Or at the very least his brother Oin who only had one ear.   
Motioning to the necklace she pointed to Zelia's stomach again. Thorin's eyes widened, "a heartbeat. The emerald glows with the babe's heartbeat." Gloin cradled it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. After much bowing and scraping and a promise of a sacrifice they departed.

"I think they will forever be in your debt for what you have done."  
She shrugged and continued on her way. He trailed after her and followed her eyes. The sheer joy Gloin and Zelia displayed was infectious. It seemed that their happiness was reward enough for her. Thorin smiled and impulsively took her hand and kissed it.  
Her blush was reward enough for him.


	7. Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, virus+starting uni really don't leave much time for writing. I'll try to put these out more regularly. Hope you enjoy!

When Vili awoke Thorin from his sleep he was not in a good mood. In fact, when he turned to see the stars greet him he was in an even worse mood. But this was quickly erased by his gaunt expression.  
“Dis is giving birth.” Those four words sent a shockwave of emotions through him. Joy that at long last his sister would have a child, tampered by fear of her dying in childbirth. It was plain to see those same emotions dancing across Vili’s face.  
As he raced out the house, Thorin could hear his little sister’s screams. It hurt to hear them but this was one battle he could not fight for her. Instead, he and Vili each took a hand and tried to sooth her. Her swearing was proof that it was not working but it was the thought that counted. He chanted this as Dis tried her best to break his fingers.  
The women and slaves within the room hurried like frightened chickens. Each with either a look of concern or determination written upon their faces. One was checking Dis. “You’re barely dilated. It will be a long while before they’re born.” Thorin and Vili shared a look of misery as Dis swore again.  
The stifling heat of the room diminished drastically as a gentle breeze swept through the room. The Valar blessed glanced over everyone; her face unmarred by the worry everyone else carried. Dis cried out again. Her eyes (eye? Thorin wasn’t sure if she actually had one eye or two) focused upon the three huddled in the middle. With purposeful strides she went to them, then lent over to examine Dis herself.  
“Out” Her single word; whilst not uttered loudly, was heard clearly throughout the room. The women looked among each other to see if she meant them, but she did not. She had been telling the little bundle in her arms that it was time to enter the world. His cries greeted them and Dis wore the largest smile he had seen in many years. “Hello Fili” she was smiling at the little bundle in her arms, before passing him over to his mother.  
“Fili?” Vili looked between her and the babe, “a son?” He roared in celebration and Dis stroked her new-born’s face. “Dwalin owes me 10 gold pieces!” He cried before giving his wife a sloppy kiss.  
Allowing the mother and son sleep, Thorin escorted the Valar blessed home. Unlike the gentle breeze of before, the winds were harsh and unyielding. Once they arrived at the long house it was with sodden clothes and frozen hands. At least the fire was lit and they huddled around it for warmth A thought struck Thorin. He raced to his room before returning with a large bundle of black fur.  
“I meant to give this to you a while ago. A gift, of intent…” he nervously shuffled as she came forward. Without a word she took the bundle and looked it over. Suddenly, she leant forward and kissed him on the lips. It surprised him greatly. Her lips were soft and as sweet as honey. The chaste kiss left him wanting for more. But she had retired for the night, leaving him with a big grin plastered on his face.

The next day was a celebration of the birth. A new son of Durin was among them and what food could be spared was greedily consumed. After the sacrifice to Mahal the ale flowed, and was enjoyed by all except Dis and Zelia whom the Valar blessed had on a tight leash. It seemed that they were forbidden from sampling even a drop of ale. But Bofur seemed to be drinking enough for all of them. After much coaxing, Thorin got her dancing. It felt wonderful to have her moving so close next to him. As the music ended he swept her up into a messy kiss. It was euphoric, intoxicating having her in his arms like this. Distantly he heard others jeering and calling out, money being exchanged but currently he didn’t care. 

Days later Thorin’s bubble of happiness popped. Messages had come from Bard, Dain and Thranduil. The tree shagger wanted a meeting of the Jarls. The others were discussing the dangers of the meeting that they were also invited to. Neither seemed able to find a good reason to go without starting a war and both commented on attacks to their families. Scowling, Thorin read Bard’s message again. His younger children, his heir Bain and younger daughter Tilda, had nearly been poisoned if not for an accidental switch up of the food. Why would Thranduil (and there was no doubt that it was Thranduil) attack the younger daughter but not the elder? Thorin groaned before summoning his council.

It was a terrible idea to summon his council. They spent hours arguing before agreeing that Thorin had to go to avoid a war. But then it was who to send; the best warriors to protect him or leave the best behind to protect the settlement? The fastest ship for escape or the sturdiest for battle? It circled round and around before it was decided. The fastest for escape, Dwalin with him (there was no way he would consent to being left behind) and Nori to snoop around. A few seasoned warriors but the rest were to stay behind and guard. Vili was to be in charge.  
When boarding the ship he turned to see her coming. She had a pack like the rest and truthfully he knew he couldn’t convince her not to come. Mostly because it was rather hard to argue with someone when they didn’t speak. Then he looked again. Her cloak was new. A dark green lined with, his bear fur. That brought a smile to his lips as he helped her onto the vessel.  
“I suppose she’s coming with us?” Dwalin called from the stern.  
“Handy to have her nearby if things go wrong” Nori stated before settling in.  
With that they pulled away. The mountains could be seen from a great distance away and Thorin kept his eyes trained on them. No matter how many times he sailed away he still felt a twinge of fear that he would never return. When they did trail over the horizon he turned to face his destination; praying to Mahal that they would leave alive.


	8. Eye for an Eye

The voyage to the Woodland realm was largely uneventful. To Thorin it seemed that the calm passage existed to counter the turbulent waves in his mind. To him, it was clear the Thranduil was attempting to expand his power. If memory served his son, Legolas, was of a similar age to Singrid. If they were to be wed and no other direct claims then the Dale would become a part of his land. The attacks on his and Dain’s heirs however, seemed less well planned. On the one hand, to get rid of the sons ensure a trickier line of succession, but both he and Dain had cousins that could inherit the Jarldom. So unless Thranduil wiped them all out (and he shuddered at the thought) he had little to work with. Perhaps the attacks were to undermine him, or make him more compliant with whatever Thranduil wanted. On and on his thoughts went until something warm snuggled against his side. 

Large emerald eyes captured his own and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. His mind still raced, but a notch or two slower until a carpet of sickly green could be spotted on the horizon. Gently prodding the Valar blessed awake, Thorin prepared to disembark his ship. Already there were Dain and Bard. Evidently they had waited for him. 

“Is it just me, or is this place sick?” Bard said in a way of a greeting; studying a plant that mirrored the aftermath of heavy drinking. To answer his question, the Valar blessed spat on the floor.  
“Right,” Dain said, rubbing his hands together, “lets deal with the tree-shagger.”  
They were then escorted to a large clearing. Already there was Jarl Gladriel of the Silver Isles, Jarl Elrond of Rivendell, a few from the east Thorin did not know and Orcs. The sight of them made his blood boil. Honourless men with metal pierced into them. They attacked with no reason or warning. Little more than filth, a thought that Dain agreed with if his face was anything to go by. Bard seemed to be hiding his thoughts under a grim mask but Thorin knew him well enough that he would not be pleased.

A shuffling noise brought him out of his thoughts. The Valar blessed was concealing her face with her cloak. It seemed that no one else had noticed her and her remaining hidden seemed like a wise course of action.  
“Presenting his majesty, King Thranduil” the self-proclaimed king swept into the clearing with an elegant grace.  
“My lords and ladies, welcome to my lands.” Thorin really wanted to punch him in the face. Calling them ‘my lords and ladies’ undermined their authority. “I have called you all here to discuss our settlements.”

“You requested us, not called” Dain was never one to keep his thoughts to himself.  
“I believe we can create a new system in which all of our lands benefit” Thranduil continued as if he was not interrupted. “By uniting our resources and people we can greatly expand our power.”  
“And unite under one ruler” Elrond murmured from the side.  
“Of course, I propose myself as my lands are the biggest and my armies the largest.” 

Thorin frowned at that. Thranduil did have a decent sized army but nothing compared to Dain’s or the Northern’s armies. Unless… his eyes drifted to the Orcs. Unless he got them under his thumb. That would explain their presence.  
“And all you have to do for this massive step forward is bend the knee.” The anger in the room was palpable.  
“And if we do not want to bow to you?” Gladrial’s calm voice was heard over the din.  
“Then your lands will suffer.” It was a predatory smile that danced on his lips. “I cannot protect you from any misfortunes that may come. And, if you oppose me, well I guess that means that we are at war.”

“Is that what you tried to do with the Shire?” Thorin called out. All heads whipped around to look at him. Thranduil’s previously serene face became contorted with rage.  
“The Shire died of a great illness. I had nothing to do with it.”  
Thorin scoffed at that. “You had everything to do with it. You poisoned the people when they would not kneel still. You entered a temple of Yavanna filled with children and slaughtered them all! You tried this again when you attempted to kill kin; children; in your power plays. You have no honour! And I would not kneel to you if the end of all days was upon us!” Other Jarls rallied to his declaration. Even the remote Silver Isles had traded with the Shire and all remembered childhoods of little food. 

They had adapted, survived, but all were leaner than their forefathers.  
“I am allied with Smaug of Erebor. This is your only chance submit to me, or die in the flames.”  
“We’ve survived dragon fire once, we’ll do it again!” Dwalin yelled from Thorin’s right.  
It seemed that everything was crumbling around the Woodland ‘king’. By the look of disgust or horror on some of the Jarl’s faces they had lost kin to Thranduil’s attacks. There were cries from widows and orphans, calling for his blood. 

“I believe, that you have war, Thranduil.” Bard was smirking. Revenge was always pleasant.  
Looking around to his fellow Jarls, Elrond called out, “bring forth those who attacked the Shire, and if not them, their sons.” Cheers met this. Even more when men were dragged from their homes into the clearing. A few were evidently sons as they were too young to be a part of the destruction. Thranduil and his son were in the centre of the men.

“You have been charged with the mass murder of the Shire, found guilty, and sentenced to death.”  
“We didn’t do it!” One man desperately cried. “You have no proof!”  
“We have proof, Yavanna herself has condemned you!” A man held a flower (white, but apart from that Thorin had few ways to identify it). As soon as it went near one of Thranduil’s men it began to bleed. White turned crimson red and it dripped onto their hands. No matter how they tried the red would not come off. 

There was a shift in the atmosphere. It mood went from rage to a sweet calm with a deadly edge. All seemed to hold their breath as she entered. But their attention was quickly diverted as wolves circled the perimeter. 

“Shire wolves” Thranduil murmured before addressing her, “You think these will scare me? Not even you can control them. Only those of the Took line are able to.”  
Her mark faded until the ravaged socket was visible. She leant forward until she was inches away and a predatory smile danced upon her features. “Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe.” Thranduil’s mouth opened before the first wolf lunged. 

The pack surrounded one of his men. Limbs were pulled apart, tendons snapped, boned maul until nought but a mess of meat remained. They then moved to the next. One by one his men died in waves of agony whilst she stared him down. The sounds of bones breaking and skin ripping were not new to Thorin and he felt a grim satisfaction at the justice being dealt.  
“Wait!” The pack had moved to a young boy, no more than five. An elderly man stood between them and the weeping lad. “Let me take his place. Please my lady” he begged. A flash of steel and the man choked upon his own blood. It was a quick death compared to what could have been. The boy fled to his mother’s skirts. Then the wolves continued. 

When the last screams of agony drifted through the air, her attention again returned to Thranduil. In his mind’s eye Thorin saw a young girl scream as a knife slashed her leg. A gnarled root shot through Thranduil’s and his heir’s leg. A boy gasping as a sword dug it’s way through his chest was avenged as another root ran through them. Each child, each that was killed had their wounds inflicted upon the royals. Until finally, there was a girl with golden curls. A crimson blade pierced her eye and by all accounts it should have killed her. Near 20 years later she coaxed a root out of the ground before it shot through Thranduil’s head.


	9. Star gazing

Thorin heard the celebratory cries of the Jarl’s men throughout the night. Many were pillaging Thranduil’s lands and Thorin could not blame them. It was payment for the years of starvation. He however, was resting in his pile of furs. The Valar blessed had long since fallen asleep, curled into him. He had an arm wrapped around her and enjoyed feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths.   
What had happened to Thranduil’s men had been gruesome but no less than they deserved. It was the set punishment but death by wolves was a new way to go around it. Sighing, he pulled her closer into his embrace and drifted off.

After conversing with the other Jarls about the distribution of their goods, Thorin walked past the mess of roots that was Thranduil and his son before doubling back. Legolas was definitely dead but Thranduil, Thranduil seemed to be breathing. Calling to Dwalin and Nori they examined him.  
“Yep, still breathing and still alive.” Nori nudged a root with his boot.   
“Do we put him out of his misery?” Dwalin asked, hefting an axe over his shoulder.   
“I would not Dwalin” a third voice called making them all jump, “unless you wish to have the wrath of Yavanna.” Gandalf strode into the clearing with his signature rings of smoke following him.   
“Gandalf, you missed the party” Nori cheerily called.   
“Indeed I did. Now” he pointed to Legolas and Thranduil, “Yavanna has decided that Thranduil will live the same number of years that he has stolen. In there.” They all turned to face the mess of roots. “Which will be a very long time as you can imagine. She was merciful in letting Legolas die.” Gandalf bashed his staff against the blonde corpse. The roots retreated and Gandalf lifted the broken mass up. “I’ll have his remains burned. Farewell Jarl Thorin.” The old man strode off leaving the men coughing upon his smoke.   
“Well, back to looting then!” Nori went off cheerily to the nearest hut. But a thought struck Thorin that prevented him from following suite. “Where are the Orcs?” Dwalin had the same look of dread on his face.  
“I know not.”   
“Nori!” The red head returned quickly. “Gather the men, we head home now.”  
“Now, but why?”  
“The Orcs are gone. Be quick!” 

They paced on the bow of the ship as they waited for the men to return. Most came running; it was barely noon when they set off. Many were agitated. They had left a large number of warriors at home who were expecting an attack but if all the Orcs attacked then they would need every man that they could get.   
Two days, two long days it took to get back to the Blue Mountains. Cold fear settled in Thorin’s stomach. There was fire all over the mountain side. With battle cries they raced through the icy water and began attacking the Orcs from behind. As Thorin drove his sword through one Orc he turned in time to see another raise his in a killing blow. With his sword in the other he could not defend himself in time. But before he made his way to the Halls of Mahal there was a blur of grey. A large wolf leapt onto the Orc and tore out its throat. Judging by the sheer amount of blood on the wolf’s fur the wolves had been fighting in the thick of it. They continued to fight through the slaughter. Thorin roared as he saw that his own Longhouse was burning. His families’ histories lay in every inch. But there was no time to put the flames out. Instead he raced to the Halls, where most of the warriors fought. His brave, loyal men charged after him. Surrounded on both sides the Orcs very quickly lost their heads. But looking at the corpses Thorin knew that this was but a fraction of the Orcs that had been in the Woodland realm. 

“Find me one that lives and make it talk” he instructed Nori. He watched as he dragged one from the pile and away from the rest. Whilst he waited for the report he summoned a meeting with his men.   
The damage was bad. Nar 100 warriors’ dead, near 70 wives and children dead and most of the homes had caught fire. Their food stores were largely spared from the flames. Thorin looked at his people. Many were injured and some likely to die of their injuries. Exposure would kill the rest and night was setting in fast. The Valar blessed was dealing with the injured. Apparently Bifur had an axe in his head and she was trying to save him. Bifur would be dead from the cold and blood loss soon if they didn’t stop bickering.  
“Enough!” he called over the bickering voices. “Everyone will share the halls that stand still. Not matter the rank or size. Injured and children will go in the intact halls, the rest of us will take shelter in the others. We will build again in the morn. We have survived before we will survive again.”  
As he left the group huddled around the fire he saw Nori coming towards him. “This group were ordered to attack. The others sail to Smaug.”  
Thorin swore loudly. “What next? What next are we to conquer?” Nori clapped on the shoulder before heading off to find his brothers.   
Huddling in the shelter a tree provided, Thorin stared into the stars. She was asleep at his side; exhausted from healing. The wolves had taken to cuddling around the children but one had nuzzled into her side. Thorin sighed and looked over his people. With luck they would survived. But the question was how many wouldn’t. He groaned and gave in to sleep.


	10. The Blue Mountains

Thorin growled as he came to. He was stiff and cold from the night outside but he knew it could be worse. Then his heart stopped. There was no warmth at his side. His eyes shot open and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that she had passed in the night for cold; instead she had gotten up. Something that Thorin himself should do.   
Breakfast was a sombre affair. Rather than waste precious energy chopping trees they used what was left of their houses. At breakfast he was relieved to see that Dis and Fili had come through the night. But the Valar blessed did not come to breakfast. In fact she was not seen until noon, when she strode into camp holding a torch and followed by her wolves.   
“You had me worried. Now is not the time to wander off their still could be orcs.” Thorin’s words were meant to be a reprimand but instead they sounded like a cry of relief. She cupped his cheek affectionately before taking his hand and pulling him along.

He knew his questions would be unanswered so they walked in silence. Although he did have questions. Especially when they began to make their way up the mountain. He had even more questions when they entered it through a small passageway. It opened into a magnificent chamber with more passage ways shooting out of it. The mountain was a dirty blue on the outside but within it shone like the clearest sapphire.   
“This is where you were?” She nodded and smiled; how he loved that smile. Giddy he spun her around before kissing her. They raced down the mountain were Thorin called for everyone to gather their belongings. 

“We are the sons and daughters of Mahal” he called out to the crowd. “We lived in the shadow of the Blue Mountains, they protected our borders. Now they will protect us. There is space within them in which we can build anew. A fortress like no other. This is a gift from the Makers themselves. Now, follow me.”  
It took far longer to reach the entrance the second time. The young, old and injured had to be helped over the denser parts of the forest before they even set foot on the mountain. By the time they reached the entrance they were all damn near collapsing from exhaustion. But it was worth it when they entered the mountain. There were gasps and cries before Thorin could assert control.   
“Have men scout the tunnels and others bring up our food.”  
With a flurry of activity they set to their tasks. The tunnels on the left side led to series of small caves Upon inspection it was found each cave was split into three and had a source of water. The right led to large caverns with a few sources of water scattered through them. They would survive. Relief flooded through him as he watched people make their ways to the left tunnels. There was enough of the smaller caves for his people twice over, although most tended to stay with their families. Thorin found her in one of the caves, the few furs that had been saved from the flames acting as their bed. 

“You are a brilliant woman.” Kissing her lightly he thought over the last few days. “I, I never asked about how you felt, about Thranduil.”  
Her smile faded and a crease appeared on her brow. “Whole, I feel whole again.” He nodded and pulled her into his arms. They sat there until they were called into one of the caverns. There Thorin sacrificed one of the few goats they had to Mahal before the feasting began. There was dancing and singing; the relief of not succumbing to winter palpable; but Thorin sat there with her in his arms. 

The next morn he awoke far too early to a loud banging. Judging by the Valar blessed’s face it was defiantly far too early. Thorin crawled out of the nest of furs and looked around. Dori was hammering away at the stone that served as his entrance.  
“What are you doing?” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a prequel to a death sentence.  
“Preparing for a door” re replied unphased. His work finished he moved to the next and began altering the next cave.  
“It seems our shelter is to be a home.” Vili stuck his head out of his cave to scowl at Dori.  
“Aye, that it is.” Thorin retreated back to the warm furs. Immediately she curled into him. It seemed that even with the heavy losses his people had faced they were able to bounce back. And, a small, greedy part of him was glad; it would be easier to see them through the rest of winter that way.   
They just had to survive the rest of winter.


	11. From the ashes

Over the remaining months of winter the mountain was transformed. Many spent their time carving creating beautiful and intricate patterns in the walls. Bifur; miraculously recovered from his injuries although there was still an axe there; and his cousin Bofur had taken to carving doors so people could have privacy. So, by the time the snow retreated the Blue Mountains were functional as a settlement. There was more to be done. Land to be cultivated, furniture to be made, lives rebuilt, but it was possible. Thorin thanked Mahal every day for such a gift. 

She was walking through the ruins of their home. They had gone down to salvage as much as they could, but Thorin knew many were hoping the snow had hidden a few precious heirlooms. He wondered what she was looking for. The trunk she had come with had been recovered and she had been wearing her courting gift and knives. As far as he knew there was nothing of hers to recover. But she probably knew what she was doing and left her to it. 

Instead he looked over his own home. There was a pang of loss before he squared his shoulders and started looking. There were a few items he retrieved. Flagons, plates; the little things that would make living in a mountain easier. Not that they could ignore the land outside of it. Even now slaves were beginning to till the land. Others checked trees. They would live, they would thrive if Thorin had it his way. 

But he may not have it his way, he conceded. He cast a worried eye over the sea. There were too many threats at the moment to live in content. A gentle kiss pulled him out of his brooding. She slowly tugged him out of the ruins towards the mountain. He temporarily banished dark thoughts for lighter ones. Brooding could be saved for his council. Now though, he could enjoy simple things. The joy on young Ori’s face when she gifted him his inks and quills. The warmth of Gloin’s forge as they passed it; his wife glowing with life. A soft hand curled in his. Perhaps there was more to be enjoyed. 

When they reached their chambers Thorin slammed the door shut and pinned her against the wall. “You and I have been sharing these rooms a while now. I’ve heard you talk, now I want to know if you can scream.” Her hands snaked down towards his bulge. 

 

Panting he defiantly enjoyed the afterglow. She sleepily nuzzled his neck before her breaths evened out. She was beautiful. If possible he had fallen deeper in love with her. Holding her sleeping form, Thorin felt himself drift off. 

The smell of smoke and decay lingered in his nose as he scrambled over gigantic mounds of snow. Tears slipped from his eye as he fought the need to look back. He knew there was no one else left. Sobs escaped him as he spotted the charred remains of a hand reaching out from the snow. Whimpering he placed a hand over his socket. It hurt so much. Near dusk he heard movement. Skittish he looked around. A rabbit, an injured rabbit. Momma had shown him how to skin one, and he was so hungry… but, he couldn’t. It looked just as scared as he felt. It didn’t seem right. Carefully, he approached it and using a ribbon and some twigs made it a splint for its leg. He petted and soothed it until it was calm. As it happily hopped away a warm hand touched his shoulder. He scream and fell into the snow. There was a woman behind him. A really weird woman. She was wearing a pale yellow dress (without sleeves, how strange) with large flowers in her hair. Sunflowers his mind supplied. She also had large blades at her hips. Smiling, she reached forward and brushed her fingers over the ruined socket. He gasped as tingling warmth spread through the pain. Blinking he tested the eye. He had an eye, a witch? Was she, she must be. 

Smiling she cupped his cheek. “You’ll have to be strong my dear. The world can be cruel. Often you will have to be as harsh and as cold as winter, but don’t forget to be as kind and sweet as spring. And perhaps, if you serve me well, I’ll even let you find someone to give you summer.” With that she vanished in yellow light.  
Still blinking, he looked around to the sound of crunching snow. Puffs of smoke announced the arrival of another. Gandalf. He remembered parties and festivals were he’d make magnificent fire flowers. “Ah, my dear I am glad to see you. We should leave now, however. Giving in to temptation he looked back. Thick plumes of smoke rose into the sky. “Come, there is nothing we can do now.” Gandalf hoisted him up and started walking. “Don’t worry Bilbo, I’ll watch over you.”

Thorin woke with a start. Near pitch black he could just make out the mark over her eye. “Bilbo” he tested the name before pulling the Valar blessed towards him. It had been like the first vision; he had been in her place in her memories. Smiling he kissed her curls. His Bilbo.  
His summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Uni course work to do put this on he back burner; but I'm back!  
> :)
> 
> Also, I don't write smut. I probably could if I wanted to, but I don't. If you ask for it I won't do it, sorry, but I'm not comfortable writing it so you'll just have to imagine it.


	12. Spring Beginnings

The weeks flew by pleasantly, a tentative spring beginning takeover the land. Whilst it is not the first time foreigners had to rebuild his home, this time was entirely more pleasant stop. The slaves ensured land prospered (under Bilbo’s guidance) and within the mountain a grand settlement, larger than any other, was painstakingly carved out of it.  
As Dis is often said, it was time Thorin turned his thoughts to other matters. And for once following his sister’s advice, he did just that. Getting Gloin away from his forge was easier than he had thought. Then again, it was unlikely had much hand in his wife Zelia giving birth to their son. An incredibly proud father, Gloin boasted about his son at every opportunity. Few could blame him as fairly annoying. Within the forge, Thorin crafted beads. They were not delicate, or intricate but there were certainly better than the lumps of metal Dwalin would have come out with. 

Nervous, oh Mahal he was nervous. His work was pathetic why was he doing this? She was by the river, hand lazily trailing through it. Weak sunlight danced from the river to her, illuminating her in the glow of a thousand candle. Her golden curls framed her face perfectly and her smile… gorgeous. Her mind, her soul, perfect. He loved her and dammit he had enough courage for this.   
Kneeling, Thorin began. “Bilbo, you are my summer. I know that there will be many seasons to come, and I’d like to face them with you my side. My sword to protect you, my home to house you, my food to feed you and my heart to love you. Before Mahal and Yavanna I ask you to be my wife.”   
He watched the emotions dance over her face. Then she kneeled next to him, and whispered one word into his ear.  
“Yes”  
And that had been gorgeous too. 

If there was one thing his people did well, it was parting. Thorin was not old, near 30 summers, but most would have taken a bride by now. Dis had been all of 19 summers when she and Vili had bound themselves. Vili had the scars to prove it and Thorin was still to feel regret over it. The announcement had been used as a good morale boast. It was like a part of old. Streams of fabric twirled in the breeze as ale and hearty food was consumed at an impressive rate. HE would have to thank Bombur and his kin for creating so much in such a short time. The cheer was palpable, a living breathing entity that graced all with its presence. Bilbo, her name still unknown to the rest, stayed curled into his side. Braiding her hair had been magnificent, a gift in itself. Her curls had been softer than rose petals, and he had worried that the braids would fall apart. But his worries had been for nought. The twin braids swung proudly, framing her face perfectly. 

They danced and feasted throughout the night, a sweaty panting mess on unsteady feet towards their chambers. Thorin took great pleasure in turning her into a different sweating, panting mess. 

The preparations for the wedding were painful. Dis was enjoying herself far too much. In fact, that was why Thorin was outside the mountain, running around in circles. Dis had scared his summer off. What if Dis had scared her to the point of ending their marriage? Dis hadn’t said what had scared her off, nor which direction she had gone to. What if she had run further than his lands and never returned?  
“Bilbo? Answer me, please! I’m not with Dis, please my summer-“ Something hit him on the head. An acorn, barely budding and the brightest green, had collided with his head. Peering up into the foliage, he spotted a hint of gold.   
“Why are you in the tree?” He had meant to sound irritated, but the relief was too evident.   
“Wedding dresses” Thorin nodded sagely at that; Bilbo wore and owned more dresses than any other he knew, all far more delicate and refined as well, but dresses and Dis was enough to traumatise anyone. In the distance he could hear Dis’s calls. Quickly, he pulled himself into the tree. As Dis approached he ‘silenced’ Bilbo by sneaking his tongue into her mouth. Even as Dis passed, he ensured she would hear nothing by pulling Bilbo close, practically sitting on his lap, exploring every crevasse with his tongue. Finally, when Dis was gone and air a pressing concern, they broke apart.   
Giggling, Bilbo peppered his face with kisses. Lazily, she draped herself over him, and Thorin quite happily hid from Dis until the sky erupted into a mirage of oranges and purples. The sky was a beauty, comparable to perhaps no one; except his summer of course. Carefully, he got them out of the tree and carried her home.

The ceremony itself was short. Thorin bounced between hopelessly excited and brooding. As Jarl he awaited his bride in the main hall. She glided into the cavern. Flanked by wolves acting as an honour guard, she took his hand and they made their way towards Balin. Words were exchanged, but none of it became truly real until he heard the cheers of his people and the howls of the wolves.   
She was his. His wife. Bound before the will of Mahal and Yavanna to remain together in this world and the next. His wife. His wife, what a wonderful thought that was.   
He cheered with the others as goats where sacrificed to Mahal and Yavanna, feasted with Bilbo on his lap feeding her morsels from his plate, and swung her around the dance floor. In truth, much of this was a blur to him, he was too giddy.  
She was his wife. And he was never letting her go.


	13. Cowards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What idiot thought they could do uni, a colaberation and a fic at the same time?  
> Me, I'm that idiot.
> 
> Updates are gonna be more sporadic than before and I'm sorry but I'm gonna finish it.  
> Hopefully.   
> Also, sorry it took so long.

With the birth of summer plans were quickly made to start the raids. Most of the planning done before hand had been lost due to the Orcs. With that loss in mind, Thorin had half the men go with Vili, the rest were to remain. If not for the looming threat of Smaug, they never would have agreed to stay. Choosing who to lead was difficult; Dwalin and Vili were the only two he could trust with such a role. Usually he would lead; slaughtering enemies and bringing wealth and slaves to his people. But now, he gave that honour to Vili. With his first son his line was secure (he would usually worry that the child would succumb to a childhood illness but he was fairly certain that Bilbo was silently daring all of the children to get sick) and as a brother he was his right to go. Besides, Dwalin was his right hand and there was no one he would rather defend his home with. 

So, waving in support, he watched as his brother led half his men to glory. There was a slight pang at the sight, but he let it slide. Dwalin, he noted, had a similar look in his eye; but duty and honour overrode it.   
Turing from the boats he saw Bilbo kneeling next to Ori. The young lad was showing her a piece of parchment he must have written. Dori looked both proud and worried. Thorin cast his mind back to the boats, Nori was on one. There was none better at raiding but there was always a risk of death. But there was a risk of death everywhere, it dogged their every step and haunted their every shadow. Life was but a fleeting spark compared to the darkness of death. Thorin was pulled from such sombre thoughts by a hand upon his arm. His summer smiled and pulled him back into the mountain. He swore as they passed plants perked up and flowers became more vivid in colouring. 

Within the mountain there was a buzz of activity. Some were carving tales into the stone whilst others (Gloin and Bifur being notable) were building and crafting. Weapons, strong doors, ways to defend their home. Thorin looked over to his left. His council; or what was left of it, he may not have liked all of them but he celebrated with the others when they had entered Mahal’s halls defending their home; were awaiting him.   
Joy.

 

It perhaps was not as bad as it could have been. Their food stores were growing daily, their home was as defendable as possible and no one tried to marry of the Valar blessed again. Well, Thorin mused as he crossed the threshold into his home, he would love to see them try. She was his wife now. No, their only concern this time was what her name was. Not that he would say. Only he knew and he would possessively hide the name. What had been his concern was if Smaug’s forces had been spotted. There was no sign, yet.  
Sighing he stopped to stare at his wife. Motionless, she stood in the middle of the room with a slight smile on her face.   
“Bilbo?” Thorin moved to cupped her face. “Are you well?” Her smile bloomed before she let out a peal of laughter.  
“Dear husband, our acts bear fruit.” She nuzzled his nose whilst he mulled the words over. Evidently she was tired of him trying to work it out so she pulled his hands down to her stomach. Finally, it clicked. She was carrying. His child. The next in his legacy. A child. For a moment his worry and fear of the future vanished as elation set his every nerve on fire. Spinning his wife around and he laughed like a child. And there would that laughter soon. Because his wife was a magnificent woman like no other. 

As the Summer waned Bilbo grew larger. The healers told Thorin that the child was healthy and whole, which in fairness he knew anyway as Bilbo gave him the ‘of-bloody-course’ look every time he asked. He did ask a lot. Then again, he remembered Vili being worse. Vili, however, wasn’t here to see him make a fool of himself which Thorin was grateful for. But, Dwalin was perfectly capable of laughing at him for the both of them.  
“You can’t kill all the bears so your kid will be sae.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because they’re a part of the world and help, I dunno ask your wide she knows about nature’s order. No killing the bears.”  
“Fine” he grumbled, before taking a swing at Dwalin.   
“You little-“ Dwalin pounced before they were both rolling on the ground throwing punches. Which was the scene Balin, Dis and Bilbo walked in on. They watched as the two grown men acted like children.  
The Valar blessed looked at her companions. “Five on Dwalin.” Dis and Balin roared with laughter at Thorin’s face.  
“You’re meant to be on my side.” Thorin honest to Mahal pouts and finds he doesn’t care. Not when she’s standing there, the sunlight dancing in her hair, eyes glowing and rounding with their child. He doesn’t care that is, until Dwalin punches him in the face.   
Both Dis and Balin hand over their coins.

“Ships, ships coming!” The cry from the shore alerts everyone outside the mountain. Some warriors grab their weapons but then recognise the sails.   
“Our men return!” Thorin calls to the crowds. Cheers meet this as families rush to the shore to reunite. The Valar blessed however, stood apart from the crowd, scrutinising the ships. A hand moves to her dagger, and panic grips Thorin’s heart.  
“Summer, what is…?” he doesn’t have to ask, Dis’s scream answers him. Vili’s head is on a spike at the bow of the lead ship. As are Nori’s and every other raider he sent. 

There is no time to mourn, not when anger rages in his heart. “Families to the mountain, men, with me!” Both sides roar as they race to fight. Wolves leap from the tree line and begin tearing into the Orcs. The ripping tendon and splintering bones echo through the battle before the first swords clash. And when they do clash it is as if Mahal has bellowed his anger from the heavens. Axes and swords cleave through limbs and torsos. Thorin watches as more of his men fall. Dwalin at his right split a skull in half before crushing another. He fought with the strength of ten men as he pushed the invaders back. And they were, step by step. Their leader was a coward. He may have looked like a warrior, foreboding with a sword arm, but he hid behind his men. And only cowards would attack like this Thorin thought as he dispatched another orc. They ran back onto the ships, to escape. But they would not escape, they could run but Thorin would kill every last one of them.   
His sentiment was share but those standing in the reddened sea, roaring at those who fled. But there was a pang of sadness as Thorin looked at the turned water. His men’s bodies floated in it. His brother’s head floated in it. And that was all he could give a burial.   
Whilst others searched for the wounded, Thorin stood in the sea. Then a thought struck him causing him to panic.  
“Where’s Bilbo?” Several men looked confused, Balin’s eyes widened as he realised what Thorin was asking.  
“Where’s my wife!” She had been at the shore when they came, she had drawn a weapon. He knew she would have fought. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead.   
Dwalin turned with pity in his eyes, “I don’t know.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this and my first semester of uni; calls for a celebration!
> 
> Legit playing celebrate good times as I post this.

Thorin was torn. He had raced around the battlefield trying to find his wife to no avail. There was no trace of her. She wasn’t in the mountain, which she should have been as she was carrying their child! What made him truly fearful were the actions of the wolves. They were restless, almost panicky as they darted to the shore, before running around the fields again. As night settled he sent a quick prayer to Mahal before returning to his sister. The wails of the remaining echoed through the dark caverns. As he approached his chambers he saw Dori cradle a sleeping Ori, tears still leaking from his eyes.   
Within Dis’ chambers it was the same. An exhausted Fili clung to his mother whilst Dis sat in stony silence. Dwalin and Balin were also there, silently lending support. Noticing Thorin, Balin took Fili and went to the bedroom.   
“You better get that fucker” a raspy voice said. Thorin swivelled to face his sister. “You get that fucker and you make him pay.” Kneeling to face his sister, Thorin pulled her into a desperate hug and allowed her to finally cry. 

 

“A prayer to Lord Mahal, humbly asking that the souls of our brothers make it safely unto you…” Balin continued in such a manner as this whilst the families presented their offerings. Even those who had not lost family were placing items down. It took hours. Hours of mourning, of celebrating their lives, and by the end of the day most were passed out drunk throughout the hall. Thorin was on his forth ale, sitting with his back to the wall. He could barely stomach the substance, yet drinking made the pain a little easier. His wife was still gone. What if Smaug had her? What if she and their child, where dead. What if… Someone’s cough disturbed him from his musings.   
“What’s the plan?” Dwalin landed next to the pair with a thunk as his weapons hit the ground.   
“Write to the other Jarls, get their support, then we kill them all.” The growl was positively feral that was echoed throughout the mountain. They were out for blood. 

 

The response from the other Jarls was quick. But preparation within the mountain was quicker. Their swords were sharpened, their arrows prepped and boats readied for the invasion. The plan was simple, send every warrior available and kill every person possible. In fairness, the other Jarls probably had more competent plans but that was Thorin’s plan and his warriors seemed happy with it. Dwalin and Dis seemed particularly happy with the plan as they sharpened their axes. Balin may have wanted to improve it but he was on babysitting duty.   
The travel overseas passed quickly. Jarl Bard and Dain tried to talk strategy with him but he tended to hand them over to Dis or Dwalin. He kept his eyes on the approaching horizon. 

 

It was a massacre. Smaug hid behind his walls. His people did not. He walked through a sea of corpses. Most missing limbs, overs having arrows embedded in them. He may have some dislikes about killing form a distance but Elrond’s warriors have good aim. There isn’t much to salvage; except a meal for the wolves which he will not begrudge them. There were a few dying screams, snapped short as metal bit into them.   
He was almost removed form it all. He had killed and slaughtered; the red of his tunic was enough proof for that. Yet he remembered none of those he had sent to the Halls. It was with this same detachment that he ordered the castle to be breached. The same detachment that he used when he ordered their warriors forward into Erebor to face trained soldiers, encased in death and armed to cause it. Yet his warriors had life burning in their veins; vibrant and bright from those that they had taken outside.

They roared. They fought. They killed. They lived. For once, life won over death. More blood coated their weapons and clothes as theirs hummed underneath their skin. The castle was not built to defend. It was built to be lavish, and in Thorin’s mind, built to burn. He, Dain and Bard spear-headed the attack, flanked by their best and the wolves. It was almost too easy to cut them down; rather like leaves his mind supplemented.   
They burst through the final doors. Smaug stood by his throne, a few remaining Orcs surrounding him. Azog leapt forward with his club raised. Cursing, Thorin dove for a shattered part of the door to use as a shield. He ducked the next blow, and countered with a wild slash. It was enough to make Azog stumble, and for him to severe his head. 

“Oakenshield” Thorin looked up and felt his heart shatter. Smaug had Bilbo kneeling before him. Her usually pristine dress was stain beyond saving, her golden curls matted and a pallor not unlike that of a corpse dusting her skin. “A pretty thing isn’t she?” He forced her to stand and Thorin felt himself freeze. Her stomach was very clearly rounding out. “And carrying such a precious gift.”   
“Release the Valar blessed!” Bard yelled, readying an arrow. Smaug smiled, if it could be called such a thing with sharp, yellowing teeth on display. He smiled as he plunged a curved dagger into her stomach. He collapsed as Bard’s arrow pierced his heart and Thorin was already running forward.  
“Bilbo, stay awake, stay awake!” Thorin repeated this and other forms of encouragement as he carried his wife through the castle and towards Elrond’s men. Oin was good but the Riverdale healers were legendary. And, who wouldn’t drop everything to try and gain her favour.   
The healers were already prepared for her, wolves snapping and barking at them. Dwalin had joined them in the snapping. Reluctantly he handed her over, and even more so left the quickly erected healing area to work with the other Jarls. He truly did not want to leave, nor did he want to work. He wanted to sit with his wife. But she would be fine. She had survived Thrandiul as a child, Yavanna would guard her now, their child. They were all that were left of her children. Her chosen one. Her Valar blessed. 

“Obviously we each want our raid price for this, so we must decide who gets what.” Expected, but not welcomed. Dain began by stating what his people deserved, then the others would argue and they’d either start a war or leave cursing the others. The debate moved on and crawled, several times someone tried to get his attention, but he waved them off. Even a small part of Smaug’s hoards would secure his people for many generations.   
“Jarl Thorin!” Finally he looked to the, healer. “She’s asking for you. Her body went into labour, we’re not sure if her Ladyship will pull through.” Knocking his chair over Thorin raced to the healing tents. Halfway there, heart-breaking howls rang through the air. His steps faltered before he stampeded through the injured to a curtained off era. A healer stepped out of it. His voice was filled with remorse, “Jarl Thorin, the Valar blessed was forced into labour due to the wound, the… the child and mother did not make it.”   
“No, no, you’re lying!” He pushed the man out of the way to be greeted by the corpse of his wife. She hadn’t been cleaned or redressed. Wasn’t that the Shire’s way? The dead were buried, not entombed. She needed, no because she wasn’t, couldn’t be-  
“Wake up” he whispered, kneeling by her side. “Wake up.”   
He sat there as female healers came in and cleaned her. Removed the blood that once caused her cheeks to glow with life, tidied the wound that destroyed that that once held life, and made the object of the dead mirror that of her in life. At some point he had been handed a bundle, feeling nauseous when he spotted the tuft of black hair. Someone had told him that it had been a son. He hadn’t even taken a breath before he’d been whisked away to Mahal’s Halls. Was she there with him. His Summer. He started laughing humourlessly. His Summer had died in winter. The son due in spring had died in winter. He felt the tears slip and tried to hide them as someone walked in.  
Gandalf moved to sit next to Thorin and the corpses. “What was his name?”  
“Kili” Thorin rasped out. “His name was to be Kili.”   
Gandalf nodded before moving to leave, “I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are evil.”

He placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder before leaving the last daughter of the Shire in his care once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, my friend told me not to end it like this.   
> I did it anyway. 
> 
> She's not going to be happy with me. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
